Unforgivable Sinner?
by MidnightHeir
Summary: Master Splinter is dead, willingly killed by the hand of one of his own children. But who would do such a thing, and more importantly, why? Told in reverse like the film Memento. To those R&Ring, THANK YOU! COMPLETE
1. The End

_**A.N - RATED FOR CONTROVERCIAL CONTENT**_

**_Disclaimer – _**I don't own the Turtles and I don't think wishing upon a star is going to change that status quo. However if lost I'll be more than happy to give them a good home!

-

'_It's a sin to kill a mocking bird" – Harper Lee_

_**The End**_

"Raphie?" Mike's voice sounded so small as he whimpered down the phone line.

It was the middle of the night, rolling over on the sofa bed Raphael stared out of the window at the cloudy sky. Extending one hand he had grabbed the ShellCell, intent on snapping off the head of who ever was on the other end. All instinct to bite his brother's head off dispersed at the sound of his name. "Mike?

"I think Master Splinter is …" Mike trailed off, his eyes never leaving the still form lying beneath the bedcovers.

Suddenly the 2am wake up call didn't seem like that much of a big deal. "It's alright, I'm comin'" Scrambling out of bed Raphael slid open the window and hit the highline. "Yo'in there on yo'own? Get Leo, no get Don in there to work his magic Yo'hearin' this Mikey?"

"Uh-huh."

"Good, I'm hangin' up. Jus' sit tight."

-

Sitting in front of his work station, Don continued to tinker with the frazzled microwave. The first he knew of another in the room was when the music that was flooding from his earphones abruptly cut out. Turning around he stared at Mikey's haunted face. Pulling the metal frame from his skull he didn't need to ask, he had a horrible, yet distinct sense of déjà vu. "Sensei's dead isn't he?"

All Mikey could do was nod his head.

"Alright …" Don took the personal stereo from his belt and placed it down on top of his work station. "I'll see if there is anything I can do." Pausing in the door way he looked back at Mikey "Someone should tell Leo."

-

Raphael took responsibility for the eldest in the family. Lying curled up in bed he shook his dazed brother awake, a small, sad look on his face. "Hey …" he ran his hand over his brother's brow, "I'm movin' back in."

At first his brother looked at him completely bewildered, and then slowly the meaning behind his words began to sink in. "No …" he whispered quietly pushing himself up in his bed. Exhausted, and unable to contain the tightly bound emotions that had been churning inside him since his Father fell ill Leo struggled to remain calm. "No! There has to be some sort of mistake. D – Don wouldn't let this happen."

"Hey … I'm comin' back. The honeymoon is over." He tried smiling at his superior but it didn't really wash, "It's time t'say g'bye Leo." And with that he helped his brother to his feet, and into the presence of their late Father.

"No!" stumbling free from his brother's supporting grasp Leo crumpled by his Father's bed. "No! This can't be right." a shaking hand extended to feel the smooth, cold skin of the old rat's neck. "Don!" he turned from the prone man to his lingering brother exhausted eyes pleading silently with the resident medic, "Do something!"

"I've done everything I can." was the quiet reply. "I think he died at some point during the night." He continued, his facial features softening at his brother's distress. "It would have been peaceful."

"No …" Leo turned back to the small shrunken figure, his form swallowed by the thick blankets that he had lovingly laid over him only days earlier. He couldn't think, he had to be able to think, there had to be something that he could do. He should have been here, not lying sleeping in bed. Here, with his father. "No …" he repeated softly leaning back on his haunches to stare at the man he had called Father for his entire life.

"C'mon …" having collected him from his room Raphael moved to collect Leo up once again. One arm slid around his back, gently, yet firmly pulling him back to his feet. It wasn't like their brother to be this emotional, but then their Father's illness had taken the greatest toll on him. "… lets get yo'some coffee or so'ethin'."

"No …" he repeated quietly for the umpteenth time. "I should've been here."

"Yea." Mikey admitted "But it's done now." He added after a short pause, "Jus' rest up. Dad aint going anywhere." "Say goodbye then."

"You'll leave him?" Leo muttered softly, "Like this?"

The three remaining brothers shared looks, "Yea."

Exhausted, Leo accepted the suggestion with a weary nod of his head. He needed some time to absorb this. With Raphael's aid he disappeared from his Father's private quarters to return to his own room, and the sanctuary of his own bed. With luck he would sleep through the next few awkward hours and could say goodbye in the morning.

Letting out a long sigh Don flicked a surprisingly critical gaze to Mikey, "A little help?"

Turning back from the doorway Michelangelo let out a low whistle. Shrugging, he glanced back, "Sure thing."

Blowing out the sole lit candle in the room, Don all but ignored Mike's active presence. "Then perhaps we can shift focus back to the living?" the baby's attempt at conversation fell on an unusually closed ear.

"Yea." His eyes flickered up to his brother before he turned away from him once again. "Perhaps."


	2. The Act

**_The Act_**

Master Splinter lay on a bed that was no more than thirty centimetres from the ground. Around him the large red blanket that covered him lay smooth and undisturbed. The only exception being the lump that the material made around the man himself. Two large yellow pillows lay behind his gaunt skull, though the rat did not know this, nor did he recall the silhouette of the turtle that came to join him. His frail body twitched with involuntary shivers, each jerk racking and disturbing the oppressive, closed atmosphere that hung in the room like a funeral shroud.

By the door dust had gathered over the light switch that had not been used for almost three and a half months now. Tonight the turtle that entered chose to flick the switch, the candles that had been lovingly positioned around Splinter's bed would do no good now, and the hand that had to be played would be played now. In his hand Michelangelo carried a single white candle, the small flame that burnt drowned out by the unnatural light that flooded the room.

Carrying the candle over to the bed he knelt down, his face curious to memorise the expression of his beloved Sensei before things came to there natural end. His fur was thinning around the snout, and sticking down around the ears. Though his eyes were closed there was a great deal of sleep gathered around both the inner and outer corners marring his flesh with a hideous yellow gunk. That would have to be washed off. Around his jaw line strings of silver spit hung, some damp and extended down over his mouth and onto the covers, littered in between these were dried greyish white powdery trails. Don was busy in his lab so caught up in his work that he wouldn't be able to stop him in time, and Leo was sleeping soundly. There would be no distractions now … biting on his lower lip he stood up to place the candle down on the low bedside dresser.

Master Splinter had been a great man, an honourable man. If he still possessed the faculties to understand what was about to occur then he would probably be pleased. Of thatthe boywas sure. This was no way to live out the remaining weeks or months of his life. And he wouldn't want to take his Son down with him. No, the man in the bed was not their Sensei, Leonardo had been correct about that, he was just a shell. A shell feeding needlessly and painfully off the energy of the living. Taking a deep breath he flexed his fingers before leaning over his resting father, one hand wrapping firmly around the tip of his snout, whilst the other pressed the top of the blanket over his mouth. There was no struggle, and there were no complications, it took thirty seconds, thirty seconds, and it was over. Removing his hands he straightened the covers and turned to the burning candle, a simple, coded gesture of goodbye.

Five minutes after Splinter had stopped breathing Michelangelo raised the alarm.


	3. Trading Places

_**Trading Places**_

The glass rod tinkled off the side of the clay pot. Working with a fervour that hadn't gripped him in a long while the resident cook added first a little bit of lotus oil before flicking on the kettle switch. He had spent the past hour and a bit running things over in his mind, before finally coming to only one conclusion. He would have to just go all out, and if charm failed, turn to crocodile tears and sheer brattiness.

Master Splinter must be sleeping at this point in time, which made tackling his older brother a lot easier. Michelangelo arranged the things onto the wooden tray very carefully. A plate of fresh raison and oatmeal cookies, a pitcher of recently made lemonade two glasses and of course the contents of two hours worth of blood sweat and tears. A little glass vial containing a dark, oily liquid.

Straightening his bandanna he checked his face in the dull reflection of the microwave before fixing on an easy smile and exiting the kitchen, his wares in tow.

-

The television blared quietly in the background, not that Leonardo paid it much attention. On his lap lay the TV guide, the crossword, and specifically twelve down eluding him. Poised between finger and thumb he held a biro, though it had spent more time tapping off his teeth than on the page. Months of caring for his Father had taken its toll on the leader, his skin having become dull and pale in equal measure. His eyes bloodshot, washed out and sunken back more than a little. Meaningful rest was a luxury he had long grown used to living without. For now his Father slept, which meant that for now he had a little down time. Though for how long this status quo would last was anyone's guess.

"Hello O Brother Of Mine!" Mikey's assault was both infectious and surprising. "I come bearing gifts of an edible nature!" Walking around the sofa he settled down on the low coffee table, his precious cargo deposited down at his side.

"I'm watching that." Leo noted, his hand flicking out to the television screen.

Twisting round to stare at the home shopping channel Mikey pulled a face, "Nah ya not. _No one_ needs a flannel rug."

"Oh I don't know." Leo laughed, dredging up the energy to add a little humour to his words "I'm sure it would look wonderful in the dojo, we could use it to mop up the blood after Raph and I are done sparring."

Chuckling Mikey offered his brother the plate of cookies, "Cookie? Fresh from the oven. And I'm telling you right now, you have to eat something …"

"I am eating Mikey!"

"Yea, but not fast enough to deal with my cooking. _No one_ is eating fast enough to deal with my cookie infestation. I've got them coming out of my eyeballs." Biting into one he grinned once again, "And yet I just can't quit whipping them up."

The smile Leo mustered up didn't quite reach his eyes, not that it didn't stop him from trying. "Pass one here then." Taking it he began to break it down slowly into smaller pieces, putting them into his mouth one tiny piece at a time. His eyes moved from his brother to the rest of the things on the tray, spotting the small vial he turned his attention back to his brother. "Somehow I don't think you're here to talk about cooking though, are you?"

Shrugging his shoulders Mikey's grin faded slightly, "Okay, so maybe I'm not just here cos you were looking lonely."

"I'm alright." He stopped his poor attempt at convincing Michelangelo otherwise. If very little crept past Don, nothing got by Mikey. Suppressing the wry smile that wanted to erupt over his face he put the pen down. "Or at least I will be. So whatever is in that, I don't need it."

Shifting from the table to the sofa, Mike settled down next to his brother, his arm tossing up and over his brother's shoulders. "And I'm sure when you were thinking that it sounded a lot better in your head. C'mon, what is one teensy, weensy night off gonna be?"

"It's not the length of time Michelangelo and you know it." Leonardo pointed out quietly. "Sensei needs me. More now than ever and I can't leave him to his own devices."

"Ah, I think between the two of us Don and I could handle him. I mean it's not like he gets up or anything is it?"

"That's not the point Mike. He's not … aware anymore. It … it's like being in a room with a stranger. A violent, abusive stranger who has set up shop in our Father's body." Leonardo's voice tailed off, his eyes casting downwards as the truth of his Father's situation finally sank in. Hearing it from his own mouth, only served to twist the knife deeper.

"Must be pretty draining work." Mike's own voice softened, the arm he had tossed casually over his brother's shoulder now serving to draw him closer to his own body. The tiny gesture earned a genuinely small yet tired smile from his brother. "Sounds like a night off could really be the order of the day."

"I'll deal."

"But you'll deal much better with a good night under your belt." Mikey continued quietly, his tender tone pleading yet warm. "And who down here is the resident medic, who I could call and totally sha-bang your ass?"

Shaking his head, he let out a small laugh, it almost sounded normal. Almost. "You're not going to let this go are you?"

Mikey's innocent grin spread out over his face, the child like quirks that littered his personality and appearance all coming to the fore. "Nope!" Again he emphasised the 'p' for cute points, his head shaking from side to side brightly, seeing his brother smile once again the serious side seamlessly slid out once again. "Jus' think of it a collateral up front one time only payment for all of the scraped knees, and bruised arms and angry charging Raphie's you used to take on when I was ickle."

It appealed, he couldn't deny that, taking one night away from all of the stress and heart ache that came with watching over his Father. Sighing he looked at the small glass vial, his tongue running over his teeth once again. "It'd be …"

"That's what Donny is there for!" Mikey cut him off, "It's not like I'd be taking this on on my own."

"Stressful." Pausing he looked his brother in the eye, this wasn't somephysical illness that could be sweated out over time."And he can say a thousand and one painful and nasty things. Just seeing Master Splinter lying there …"

"Well I've already heard some of the things he might say. He doesn't come with volume control you know." Mikey's mistimed humour fell on deafears.Stopping, his tone slipped back into 'caring - sharing' mode,"And it's pretty quiet down here. So … if I can handle a visual you'll let me take over?"

"On three conditions. One, you'll get me if he does _anything_. Two, you'll split the night with Don, and get him if he gets violent. Three, after tonight you'll go and stay with Raph till this is over."

"Hmmm …" pretending to turn over the options he finally nodded his head in agreement. "You take the cookies and we got our selves a deal O Brother of Mine."

Smiling at his brother's bizarre intellect he accepted the extended hand, shaking it formally before allowing himself to be pulled into a headlock of sorts. Chuckling he tipped Mikey down onto the floor, watching his baby brother roll around onto his knees. "Wrestle mania …" he mouthed, hurling himself back at his brother.

-

"Woo!" Blinking Leo studied the swirling brown liquid whilst it continued to mix in with the lemonade. "That's got quite a kick to it Mikey."

Shrugging Mike topped the glass up with more lemonade, perching on the lip of his brother's bed whilst he waited for the inevitable crash and burn. "Nyah. It's not _that_ strong."

Stifling a yawn behind his hand Leo muttered, "Strong enough."

"Aw, c'mon, you've barely had a mouthful." Mike joked, "Raph would totally rib you right now if he could see this."

"Well Raph's not here …" nipping the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger he leant his head back against the pillow. Finally with Mike's guidance he took another mouthful, swallowing the slightly tangy liquid with a little difficulty. Slowly his eyes closed, and for that moment in time he was more than happy to let them do so.


	4. The Stress

_**The Stress**_

If Leonardo chose to suffer in silence, carrying the collective weight of the world, and his family's well being on his shoulders then Raphael chose to test it a little more. Though tiring and struggling to keep an air of the normal within the lair Leonardo soldiered on, happy to ignore the cracks that were appearing in the fragile veneer that hung over the family home.

Raphael, on the other hand, could not. Like his brother there were certain things he hated in life, things he couldn't fight, things that were outside of his control. Things like time and disease. He couldn't bury himself in the sacrificial pursuit of caring for his Father, to see such a great warrior reduced to a drooling, incompetent man caused something to ache in his soul. And unlike his brothers he couldn't retreat into a laboratory or kitchen to hide his worries and fears. No, for Raphael it didn't matter where he went in his home he could never escape the angry torrents of abuse that were directed at his nobler brother …

"I'm movin' out fer a bit." Raphael held the small black holdall over one shoulder, his announcement more of a call to the open lair as a whole. "If yo'need me I'll be at Casey's." he added after a few seconds, not surprised to receive no direct acknowledgement. The fact he had lasted for over six months of his Father's painful degeneration was a staggering feat to any of his brothers. "Al'aight?" Looking round one last time, he took the silence as a 'yes'. "I'll catch yo'guys soon 'kay? If yo'need _anythin'_ I'm jus' four blocks away."

-

The burn on Mikey's arm wasn't as bad as it looked. Not that it stopped the youngest from milking it for everything it was worth. Don had already made a pilgrimage to the kitchen for chocolate milk, cookies, and a quick detour to Michel's bedroom for Mr Blinkie, the happiness hippo.

"Do you need anything else?" In times of stress Mikey's mental age always dropped back by about ten years. It was just one of those things, a given. "Ice cream? Band-aids with pictures of Pokemon on? I think I've still got some of those left over." Treating Mikey had always been easier than treating any of his other brothers. If nothing else it was always entertaining. "Anything at all?"

"Six months?"

Mike in a serious mood? Now Don really had experienced it all. And in less than two hours. "What?"

"Raph. Six months right? He lasted six months before he had to bail out."

"Six months, three weeks, two days and …" Don glanced at the wall clock, "seventeen hours."

"Show off."

"Nyah, when you've got it, you've got it." The two brothers looked up at each other before chuckling softly. Shaking his head Don waited for Mikey to start on a cookie before starting the comically elaborate task of bandaging Mikey's arm. For once, despite the use of his props Mikey didn't act up, instead he continued on the same track.

"You going to take some time out?"

Glancing up Don paused, "No, I think Leo needs me here. But if you want to take some time out he'd understand."

"It's getting him down? This whole thing? I guess it's a pretty crappy deal."

"If you're asking me if it's taking its toll then yes, I think it is. It's not pleasant watching any one waste away. Especially when it is someone like Master Splinter. I guess it just makes life appear amazingly unfair."

"Yea …" Mikey glanced at the cup of chocolate milk to one side, "Milk me!" he ordered suddenly, breaking off the awkward silence that was beginning to settle in. Taking a long sip he took to knawing on his lip, his eyes narrowing to study the middle distance whilst he mulled things over in his head. "So, whatcha saying is _if_ Master Splinter was to bow out it wouldn't be the worst thing in the world?"

The biscuit Don was eating snapped as he bit through it in surprise. Dropping through the air it struck the ground so hard that it shattered into a thousand pieces. Studying his brother's face he wasn't sure if he was joking or not, and the way he now held his glass of milk gave nothing away. Tilting his head away he reached for another roll of bandage, uncertain of how to respond. Finally he cut straight to the point, "Were you eavesdropping? Before, when Leo was in here?"

"Nope!" In his youth when Mikey told a lie his brothers could spot it a mile out, as he had grown older they had never had any reason to doubt what Mikey said or did. As such the way he happily enunciated the 'p' in the word didn't give Don any cause for concern. The child like expression, and action so typical of his stressed out baby brother. And then, just like that the happy moment was over, and he was back onto his topic, "But … Master Splinter he's dying anyway right? And you know, it's already gotten to Raph, sure it took some time but it got there." Stopping Mikey only continued when he was sure he hadn't alienated his brother again, "I guess I'm jus' wonderin' how long it's gonna be before Leo burns himself out. Cos … like, he's in there twenty four seven."

"Yes, well there is very little we can do about that. Brother Dearest doesn't want us to see what Sensei has become." Don pointed out quickly and quietly, taking the break in Mikey's reasoning to try and put an end to any crazy ideas he might be cooking up.

"Yea, but dontcha think we should focus our energy on the livin'?" Pursing his lips up Mikey searched for some sort of hint he was onto a winner.

"Yes, but Leo isn't going to take a night off to recharge. Is he?"

"Hmmm …" Shrugging his shoulders Mikey settled down upon a course of action "I can win him over."

"I doubt that."

Getting up Mike flashed Don a wicked grin, "Of course I can O Brother Of Mine. For you forget …" leaning forwards, his eyes took on a hue they hadn't adopted in over ten years, his face creasing up at the corners into a bright, childlike grin, "Ahm the baaay-be!"

-

A.N ; ickle little, it is British Northern slang referring to a time when one is younger.


	5. It Starts With

_**It Starts With …**_

"Bastard heathen child!" the old rat hissed at his child.

Around his bed candles were lit, their flames illuminating a world that would otherwise lie in a perpetual state of dark. The dark was a welcome choice, and made it far easier on the once proud Sensei's primary carer. To see his Father, his dark eyes that though capable of taking in their surroundings were unable to recognise the boy that battled with him at his bedside.

"Master Splinter …" the eldest begged, as the old rat had continued to forget he had taken up this role to spare his brothers the pain of seeing their father fade away, and consequentially abuse them. "Please, it's just soup."

"Poison!" he snapped, though frail and wasting away in his bed the old man jerked away from the porcelain spoon. "Ugly boy!"

"No …" slowly Leo took a sip from the bowl, "It's just the way you like it." Despite experience telling him other wise Leonardo moved closer to his father. Carefully he moved one purple candle from the side of the bed, before gently dropping to his knees. Balancing the bowl in one hand he picked up the spoon once again, diligently filling the utensil before offering it. In the half light, the boy stayed alert, his eyes watching the bony arms that lay just beneath the thick red blanket warily.

"Heathen child …" Splinter turned his snout from the spoon, his mouth turning up at the corners into a firm line.

"Father, it's soup." Leaning forward the porcelain brushed his father's whiskers, and for a moment it looked like he might take a sip. The candle light caught a small smile from the boy, "Soup." he whispered quietly,reassuringly "Just soup."

"NO!" with lightening quick speed one bony nailed hand shot forth, striking the bowl and spoon out of the precarious grasp that the boy held on them. The burning liquid splashed over the boy's plastron, and across his legs, causing him to wince in pain. Adding insult to injury, talons sliced over his nowexposed forearm, raking up small amounts of flesh. Staring at the scratch marks Leonardo withdrew, there would have been a time, months ago he could have avoided such a clash.

"Fine! Be that way!" The anger that surged through him dissipated seconds later. This wasn't his Father's fault, it was that goddamn disease. Standing up he took in short breath after short breath before retreating from the room, perhaps his Father would be hungrier later. Don could wrap his arm and he would come back and try again later.

_Yes_, _that would work_.

-

Life in the lair was decidedly tenser than it had been in a long time. Mike kept himself busy by endlessly cooking; cakes, cookies, lavish dinners that no one was in the mood to eat. Whatever he could do to keep his mind off the simple fact that his Father was wasting away, and taking a good chunk of their eldest brother with him.

Leaving the frying pan unattended to check the recipe book the youngest didn't realise he was setting himself up for a nasty burn until the spitting oil landed on his extended arm.

-

"I'm fine." Leonardo sounded anything but fine. Tired, stressed out, an emotional train wreck, there were a thousand different ways of describing the pale, bowed head of the boy, but fine was definitely not one of them.

Whilst hands wrapped a length of bandage around the seeping wound Don's eyes flickered up from the task to look at his brother. "Okay… I guess the question I'm _really_ asking is; how are you feeling?"

Leonardo chuckled softly, though it sounded more like a hollow, muffled cough. He had spent so long in his Father's presence that he had forgotten how little could slip through Don's radar. Shifting his weight round in the small fold up chair he sat in he glanced down at the floor. "It's horrible." Gritting his teeth against the sharp pain brought on by pressure being applied to the cuts he waited for the sensation to pass before continuing in a low, defeated monotone, "He's not there anymore Don, and it doesn't matter what I say or do he …" eyes raised from the floor to pick a new random patch to stare at, tears that he would normally be able to control pricking at the corners of his eyes, "He doesn't recognise me. Or you, or anything." With his free hand Leo ran his open palm over his eyes, relieved that the tears didn't fall. Shaking his head he changed position once again, this time tilting his head up to the curved red stone ceiling, "There are times Don, I pray I'll get there in the morning … and he'll be gone."

Hands that had been busy withdrew from the arm, satisfied with his work Don moved off his chair to squat down beside his brother. Taking his brother's wrists in his hands he pulled them into his lap, capturing his brother's eyes he held their gaze whilst he did his best to reassure his brother's battered, and waning morale. "Leo, you don't mean that."

Withdrawing his hands Leo broke away from his brother's reassuring gaze. Standing up he smiled at his younger brother before responding in the same deflated, defeated monotone, his tired eyes offering Don a small drained smile "Don't I?"

-

_Complete_

-

_Inspiration (aka 'Author' sits to one side stroking her purple plot bunny) -_

_"Michelangelo could talk the talk and walk the walk, but he was just scared or crazy enough between the talking and the walking to be underestimated more often than not. No one could do hidden motive like Michelangelo, and there were times that Leo wondered if that underestimation wasn't carefully cultivated."_  
Brotherly Reflections, pacphys (an excellent little one shot! **READ IT!**)


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